


Let Me Sleep Here

by templeg



Series: Lay Down My Life At Your Feet [8]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Enjolras Is A Cuddle Monster, Enjolras is not a morning person, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Morning Cuddles, Mornings, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 05:39:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/templeg/pseuds/templeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire has to get up early for class. There's just one problem, and his name is Enjolras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Sleep Here

Grantaire’s alarm goes off at six thirty. He groans into the pillow and sits up, groping around for the source of the noise and pawing at it until it stops. Enjolras, the lucky bastard, is still sprawled across the bed, facedown with his hair a glorious disaster zone. Grantaire looks fondly down at him as he sits on the edge of the bed, trying to muster the energy to make his legs support his own weight.

It takes him a good minute to stand up, and when he does something yanks on the back of his t-shirt, hard enough to make him sit back down again (which is not, admittedly, very hard). He turns to see Enjolras’s hand fisted in his shirt. He hasn’t even raised his head, hasn’t moved position except to pull Grantaire back into bed like a grabby toddler. Grantaire rolls his eyes and moves to find his jeans, and Enjolras clings to the back of his t-shirt, dragging himself halfway across the bed in his determination. He hasn’t even opened his eyes yet. For all Grantaire knows, he’s still asleep, and this is some strange new form of sleepwalking.

‘Enjolras’, he says fondly, trying to extricate himself from his iron grip, and then when this proves harder than anticipated, ‘Enjolras! Enjolras, let go, I have class.’

‘Mnnsfghhhh’, Enjolras says into the mattress.

‘Are you even awake?’ he asks, casting about the floor for a pair of clean or clean-ish socks. Enjolras grunts. ‘Right. Look, I _know_ you don’t want me to go- I don’t want to go either- oh, for fuck’s sake.’ Every time he prises Enjolras’s fingers off his t-shirt, or his wrist, or his arm, he latches on somewhere else. It’s a battle he does not have the energy for at six thirty in the morning. He tries once again to stand and Enjolras whines loudly and grabs him round the waist. How can he so thoroughly have defeated Grantaire without even progressing to a sitting position?

He gives a defeated sigh and- a tactical error, this- turns to give Enjolras, and thus the problem, his full attention. Enjolras cracks open an eye and wraps both arms around his neck, dragging him back down to his level. His comfortable, warm, Enjolras-smelling level. He’s somehow managed to hook a leg around Grantaire’s midriff, octopus-like, and then Grantaire is on top of him and his legs are around Grantaire’s waist and both of them are suddenly much more awake.

Grantaire is late for class.


End file.
